


Vipera et Feles

by ProwlingThunder



Category: Fallout 4, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BSing Witcher Lore, Crossover, Established Relationship, M/M, School Of The Viper, School of the Cat, The (Second) Conjunction of Spheres, The Witcher Wiki Abuse, Witchers, dimensional shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: Witchers typically winter in their headquarters, when they have them. Silas would definitely be okay spending his entire winter curled up in warm bed around his lover. You know. Where it’swarm.
Relationships: Male Sole Survivor/Male Sole Survivor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: That Writing Place Fic Drop, The Sun in a Jar





	Vipera et Feles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EgoDominusTuus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/gifts).



> Title is the Latin translation of “Viper and Cat”. Valentines Gift Box Drop for EgoDominusTuus

Movement roused him, pricking at the veils of sleep, and Silas cracked an eye open to watch the brunette stretch out, slow and languid, uncurling like a cat in the early-morning sun. He did it on  _ purpose,  _ a fact which Silas both loved and hated and which made Quinn grin sharply whenever he pointed it out. Which was, arguably, the best reason to point it out, as often as possible, in as many ways and languages as he could.

He stayed half-buried under the blankets instead, nose tucked under the crook of his elbow, unwilling to move before it was necessary. It was too early and too damned cold to be up doing anything. Winter was always a pain that way; ever since the soldiers had descended into the catacombs of Tir Tochair, Silas hadn't spent a decent winter anywhere. He used to secure himself in some of the largest and warmest rooms, pouring over tombs or going through martial forms, working with the young witchers in their ranks. He missed those days.

He didn't miss them as much as he enjoyed these, even with the cold that snapped at his bones and slowed his blood. He was warm here, buried under the blankets warmed by their body heat, watching shafts of light play across his lover's skin. Last night's fire had burned to all but embers, barely warming anything, and one of them would have to get up and bring it back to life before it was too cold to get dressed.

Silas voted Quinn. Quinn had already made the mistake of getting out from under the covers, and goosebumps were prickling over his skin, and--

Oh.

_ Unfair. _

"You're awake," cats-eye green peered down at him, mischief dancing merrily in their depths. Silas made a noise of disagreement that was muffled by the cloth and which did nothing to dampen the Feline's spirit. Of course he wasn't awake. The other witcher was just hallucinating. Who knew what was in the grasses he'd taken; all the schools had learned that the School of the Cat had a bad batch of grass. Several times.

Some of the greatest psychopaths. Some of the greatest witchers, too.

As far as ailments of the mind went, Silas thought perhaps they were stories spread around by others. Wolves, maybe; no one would have a bigger bone to pick. Quinn was remarkably tame as far as the stories went, even if his worst moods tended to have a bigger percussive bang attached to them. He was happy almost all of the time, and enthusiastically so to the point that people had thought him nearly normal, with the strange, baffling exception of being happy to travel in the company of a witcher. Which was  _ good. _ Because at least one of them needed to pass for normal, now, in this strange new world that had happened, when the Spheres had begun to collapse… 

Well. Silas hadn't expected for the woods he and Quinn had been camping in to turn from healthy trees to fire-scorched corpses. Hadn't expected to pass into a desiccated village with a sign he couldn't read when he knew so many languages, buildings made with steel. To see a mutated dog's corpse, only vaguely identifiable. To find a town made of strange stonework and people who didn't speak any tongue either he nor Quinn knew. Life had been made a bit more clear-cut when the two groups of humans were identified as  _ enemy _ or  _ nonhostile-- _ handling the first set had worked out a bunch of the pent-up energy the two of them had had, and it had been no grief at all to deal with the  _ whatever it was _ that had crawled up from the sewer to join them.

They hadn't gotten out of that fight entirely unscathed, but it wasn't much different from fighting a bruxa, though the  _ deathclaw _ was slower and arguably quieter than a bruxa. Silver killed it just the same, though, proof enough that nonhuman monsters lived and breathed in this realm. A reason for a silver blade, and a reason for a witcher.

Their long, careful conversation with the survivors, before they'd led them back to the skeletal village, where the two of them were trading their skills as protection for tutoring in the new tongue. The house was a  _ gift,  _ though. A sort of... permanent place of residence, somewhere they could winter, like either of their headquarters, when they'd had them. That was one of the things the Viper and Cat schools had in common: neither of them had a home anymore. Or, rather, they hadn't; Preston and Mama Murphy had made it very clear, in careful words, that the two witchers were welcome to stay, and to return here anytime, and that there would be a place for them.

Silas made a point of ignoring the other young woman, whose words were often muttered in a growl that made it very clear she didn't like them. Which was fine. Most of the world-- well, their world, at any rate-- hadn't liked them. Other schools hadn't like them. Kings and countries had sought them slain, peasantry had gathered in mobs to cleanse or devastate their homes and numbers, beasts and monsters felled their numbers quicker than the Law of Surprise could grant them sons or daughters, loath as many were to ask it, hard as it was to raise a child and harder still to watch them die during their trials. It had been a long time since Silas had grown numb to the callousness of humans who hated them.

Besides. He had Quinn, and Quinn had made it clear with his scarily fierce Cat-borne affection that he did love him, and Silas was okay with that, for just one person in all the realms to care for him that way.

He didn't know if he could  _ handle _ more than one person caring for him that greatly. Even thinking of reciprocating his affections with the same level of emotional intensity left Silas exhausted and in desperate need of a nap.

Which was part of why Silas was still down here on the mattress, debating the merits of rising to get out of bed or coaxing the other man down for more soft quiet... or something less soft, given the way Quinn was  _ looking at him. _ Silas could think of worse ways to start the day off than an expression of just how much Silas carried for  _ him-- _

A heavy knock kept him from proceeding, and half-raised from the bed, arms braced on either side of Quinn's thighs, he shot a hateful glare at the door, an angry hiss behind his teeth. Quinn laughed, a delighted sound, almost like music, reaching out to catch his fingers in Silas' dark mane, pulling him in the rest of the way, stealing a kiss.

The knock thumped again. Quinn broke the kiss with a huff, but Silas didn't know if the irritation was itching at the Cat the way it was  _ him.  _ "Who is it?"

"Generals, we've got a problem," Preston called through the doorway instead of answering the damned question. "Sturges caught a distress signal on the radio."

_ It's winter, _ Silas wanted to demand,  _ who does things in winter? _

But one glance at Quinn, and he knew they were both in agreement. Their own time was going to have to wait. Someone out there needed help, and they were uniquely qualified at dealing with what this wasteland was interested in dishing out.

"On our way! Duty calls, Sil," Quinn told him, every inch apologetic. Silas pressed a reassuring kiss on his shoulder and turned away, rolling off the mattress to get to his clothes and armor.

Hopefully this time they could get paid with more than just a hot meal. Old world currency didn't seem to go very far, here, and few people were willing to pay for a dead monster. Even fewer when there was snow on the ground.


End file.
